Proposals
by Vanamo
Summary: House and Thirteen have a talk. Itty bitty bit of House/13.


Ok, so practically all of the people who read my stories are gay. But iyimgrace, my brainstorming buddy, psuedo mommy and unfortunately straight friend has a birthday coming up, and she's the few crazy people who ships House and 13. Honestly I think they work rather well together, and she wouldn't stop bugging me to write them, so here you are. Give it a chance, lady lovers. Really, it's not that bad.

* * *

The whole room was distorted today and it was hurting House's eyes. By distorted, he meant that only one chair of the office table was occupied. This clearly destroyed the very fragile precipice of life. How was he supposed to work when somehow Larry, Curly, and Moe _all_ had scheduled to help in the ER or assistant in surgery or some other damn task assigned by the evil overlord when they were supposed to be saving a life? Not that they had a case. It was Friday; he'd had his epiphany yesterday along with his moral lesson (according to Wilson) for the week. Only he and Thirteen were stuck in the room for another…however many hours before he could clock out from his 'clinic duty'.

As his female employee crossed his mind, he looked up from his desk at her. She looked a bit tired, he noted. Probably because she was here til 1 am last night (thus helping him save the patient, good girl) and had chosen unwisely to bunk in the doctor's lounge, in a hall where a patient alarm could be heard every five minutes in the early hours. As if on cue, she groaned and laid her head down on the desk on top of the folder she had been filling out.

Now that just wouldn't do.

He rose, limped over into the other room, and unceremoniously banged his cane on the table. Thirteen jolted back into an alert state of mind, not to mention out of her skin. He felt a twinge of guilt. She looked even more exhausted up close – reddish eyes, purple bags, pale skin, the whole half of a rainbow that came with being bisexual.

"I'm bored," he stated.

She glared at him. "And trying to make me fall out of a chair would solve that?"

"It would if you did, but of course there's a possibility you'd be injured. But since we're in a hospital, feel free."

She shot him another irritated look and chose to prop up her head with her hand. "Anything I can do that wouldn't involve stitches?"

"Entertain me," House said simply, sitting down next to her. She raised an eyebrow and he began to play a random rhythm on his jean-clad thighs. "Well?"

"How am I supposed to entertain you?" she asked, apparently not amused.

House shrugged. "You're moderately socially adjusted, start a conversation."

"You want to talk to me, House? You know that means you have to talk back," she said.

He shrugged again. "Or we could play competitive solitaire."

She sighed. "Fine. What do you want to talk about?"

"So many questions," House muttered more to himself, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. "You pick."

"Nope," she quipped.

"Come on."

"Nuh uh, House. You want to talk, pick something to talk about." She had a bit of a glint in her eyes. He liked that.

He leaned back and placed his hands behind his head. "Wilson said last week you two played truth or dare."

"We aren't playing a silly game, House."

"Clearly not, we're way too mature. What did he ask?"

Thirteen couldn't help but roll her eyes. "One, you can't use that conversation to springboard this one. Two, I'm not telling you anything. We both took a blood oath that the information would never leave that cafeteria."

"So let's go to the cafeteria," House found himself saying.

A mildly surprised Thirteen furrowed her brow before asking, "What, you're going to buy me…what qualifies as a meal here?"

"God no, you're paying," House said. After a brief pause he added, "But we could eat together, or something."

She studied him for a moment. "Ok."

* * *

Thirteen grabbed a bag of Chex Mix and a bottle of green tea. "Don't buy too much, please," she told him with a threatening undertone.

"If I planned on squeezing you dry, I'd have a dirtier sounding metaphor as a comeback," he said, piling a bag of chips and an oatmeal raison cookie in plastic wrap onto his tray.

"I appreciate the consideration," she said with a smirk. After fumbling around in her pocket a bit, she found a crumpled up ten dollar bill and handed it to the cashier. It was the same one from a week ago, and from the way she thrust the change into Thirteen's hand, she was still a bit peeved about her daring Wilson to break into the register. Ah well. They found an empty booth easily, given the late hour, and sat down.

House observed her a bit more. She was wearing a dark blue blouse and a grey sweater. He liked that she could look elegant yet casual in practically anything. It added to that mystery about her. It somewhat amazed him that in the 2.5 years she'd been working for him, he still hadn't figured her all the way out.

But then again, what fun would that be?

"Pretzel for your thoughts?"

He focused his eyes and saw her twirling a small pretzel on the tip of her index finger. He smirked. "You and Wilson have a magical ability to find healthy food in this dump."

"So you won't steal any?" she asked with a bit of false hope in her voice.

"No, of course I'll take the pretzel. My thoughts don't come cheap," House said, plucking it from her grip.

She grinned slyly at him. "Anything else you feel like sharing?"

He thought for a moment. "You look…good tonight."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, sipping her tea.

"I'm acknowledging your hotness without giving you the parameters for a sexual harassment suit," he explained. It was true. It was hard for her not to look good. "Although if you want, I'm sure we could go back to your place and –"

"And I'll stop you right there," she said, perfectly cutting him off and taking another drink.

"Why so thirsty?" House asked curiously.

"I've heard that beverages are useful for breaking awkward pauses," she answered. "Food also does the trick."

"Well aren't you clever," he said in the usual condescending manner.

"Well we can debate my cleverness, but it's not an appealing topic. Think of something else to ask."

House munched on his cookie. "Why do I have to be the one to start the conversation?"

"Because, House, I'm trying to kill time by making you ask questions like that."

"You're averting."

"I'm tired. Start talking."

"Nope."

Thirteen rolled her eyes. "Fine. Tell me something you despise and why you despise it."

"Rather cynical," House noted.

"Aren't we all?" Thirteen countered.

He crunched a chip. "Marriage," he stated indifferently.

"Why?"

"Why do I have to say why?"

"It was part two, keep up."

He found himself smirking again. "I just find it pointless."

She nodded. "I agree."

Hm, that was surprising. "Why?" he asked. "You're aware that in five states, DC, and Canada you're allowed to now."

"I'm all for settling down. In fact, I'm rather settled already. I have a job and regular income. I even have subscriptions to magazines. But walking down an aisle with friends and family and saying I love someone and want to spend the rest of my life with them isn't in the cards," she explained. Again, he was surprised. "And I doubt it is for you either."

He didn't acknowledge the last part. "Why so much thought on the subject?"

She smirked. "I was always bored in high school. You become adamantly against things."

He nodded. These chips were crunchy and needed more salt.

"It's your turn to say something," she prompted him sarcastically.

"Explain Foreman."

"We dated for nine months and we broke up seven months ago. That's all there is," she said simply.

"Did you love him?"

"No."

Hm. "Have you ever loved anyone?"

"Why so interested in my love life, House?" Thirteen asked. She was out of tea by now but took a sip to get the last of it.

"Just have to make sure all my little ducklings stay in the pond," he said.

"Well why do you hate marriage?" she questioned. "There have to be things that make it pointless."

"It's a lie," House told her. "Mommy told me lying was bad." She didn't look amused. "The idea of marriage is only a survivalist technique. You find a mate, procreate, and then the only thing keeping that primal unit together is a piece of paper that says 'If you leave, you will a. go to hell, b. end up on antidepressants, c. pay an alimony, or d. all of the above'. As a result, people stay and put on a show pretending to be happy because in an ideal world, the misery wouldn't outweigh the happiness."

Thirteen nodded her head slightly and ate a nut from the Chex Mix. "All that because your dad wasn't really your dad."

"He was an egotistical bastard. The point of having children is to pass on your genes and have someone take care of you in old age, and neither was accomplished. You can relate to that," he pointed out.

She nodded. She knew House wasn't being cruel; it was a fact that her parents had been arguably careless by having her. But in their position she wouldn't have known what to do, so it'd be hypocritical to disagree. "The point of dating is to find someone who distracts you from the misery. A relationship is learning to cope with the misery, and then marriage is accepting that your misery came from trying to fit into society by being miserable."

He looked at her. "You _cannot _be that cynical."

She shrugged and crumpled up her bag. "Life is a distraction; you might as well see it for what it is and find your way to cope."

"So marry me."

What the hell. Where had that come from?

To his astonishment, she didn't punch him. She met his gaze unwaveringly and said almost in an almost melancholy tone, "Even in marriage, I'd still be your puzzle."

He found himself expelling a breath he'd been holding for some reason. "But," she began slowly, "I could count this as a first date."

His pager went off. He'd set it for when he could leave for the night. Thirteen began to stand up.

"Hey," he said quickly. She looked down at him.

House stood up. "The second date needs wine."

Thirteen nodded and let herself smirk. "Then you're paying."

Their lips brushed and it was over before House realized it. It was fleeting but it was like her, like how this would likely end up.

"Good night, House."

"Night, Thirteen."


End file.
